


Mystic Arcanum

by TheMightyGhost



Category: Loki (Marvel) - Fandom, Marvel, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Blood and Injury, F/M, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, Master & Servant, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Mildly Dubious Consent, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Power Play, Punishment, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:16:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22196956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMightyGhost/pseuds/TheMightyGhost
Summary: Loki always gets what he wants in the end.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

_ Oh…  _ it was refreshing, all this young magic in the air. Thick and heady like potent incense. He had  _ definitely  _ chosen wisely, nodding to himself as he appraised the pretty little sorceress he’d formally declared as his own. 

_ Sága. _

Such a pretty name for a sweet, shy little creature. Half Æsir on her mother’s side with the typical golden hair that frequently donned the heads of the Asgardian populace. Vanir on her father’s side, with a healthy blend of Jötunn for good measure, making for an interesting concoction within those pretty veins of hers. 

She’d been going cheap. Only 10,000 on the black market. Caused a bit of bother back on Vanaheim from what Loki could gather, something pertaining to being betrothed to the lord of Vanaheim himself (until his rather unfortunate death some months ago, of course). Loki could read between the lines, but he knew he wouldn’t receive the same treatment from his pretty little creature, not if he played his cards right.

Loki wasn’t fond of slavery. Of course he wasn’t. It was an outdated, barbaric principle better suited to the annals of time than modern society. Still, when he had heard rumours of a little lost goddess being flogged on the black market,  _ well…  _ he’d be a fool to resist.

And thus he had been led to the underground club only frequented by those of a magical inclination. He was here to induce Sága into the  _ ‘Order’,  _ so to speak. He was here to stake his claim as both her Master and as their future King. He always did like making an impression, after all. 

Deep, thrumming music reverberated through the crystalline chambers, a mixture of melodies from across the Nine Realms. The pair of them walked side by side, with Loki just a step ahead, leading the way for them both in his dark black hooded cloak, the rim of the lid interwoven with deep, dark emerald green jewels. His protege wore a slightly lighter set of robes, a dove grey cloak with a hood suffused with twinkling gems of starlight. Beneath the hood one could clearly make out the pair of golden eyes that marked the little lost goddess as something  _ very  _ unique and special indeed.

Loki took her left hand in his right gloved hand once they stopped before a set of heavy stone set doors. “Now remember, my dear,” he began, “We’re here to make a good first impression.  _ Don’t  _ disappoint me.”

“I won’t,” She intoned monotonously.

He squeezed her hand tighter, forcing her against him as the doors started grinding open at a tectonically slow pace. “I said.” he plucked her chin between his fingers and forced her to look into his steely green eyes. “ _ Don’t  _ disappoint me.”

“I won’t…” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the noise of the music and the slowly opening door. At the last second, before the doors opened properly, she let out a quiet, tremulous,  _ “Master.” _

He dropped her face, letting his own fall back into a neutral expression, maintaining his mask as he escorted his protege through the open doorway and into the dimly lit chamber beyond. 

The interior was illuminated by swirls of colourful magics, of blues and purples and silvers primarily. The chamber was roughly circular and clearly designed to appear naturally formed, though it was clear that Sága was far from impressed judging by the way she scoffed discreetly under her breath at the display of faux vines that were gathered around the various columns and pillars that kept the structure secure. 

There was already a gathering in the chamber, many of those of importance luxuriating in soft cushioned chairs and sofas, the occasional rug, or even just a pile of blankets, attended to all the while by their own protégés. In more ways than one, judging from some of the sights they were being witness to, such as a comely Midgardian man being pleasured by identical twins, and the Dark Elf lurking in the shadows freely allowing her  _ Pet  _ to orally stimulate her. Loki could feel Sága tensing at such obscenities and placed his hand on her waist to guide her towards where they would be sitting, hopefully doing his best to reassure her subtly enough to go unnoticed by the others. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. 

Loki made himself comfortable on the regal throne that had already been set in place for him, two braziers of greenish fire sitting close by, casting a rather poisonous shadow upon him and the black chair he now rested upon. He patted the side of his leg once, twice, not looking to check on whether or not there was a cushion set in place for his little token, instead contenting himself with brushing his gloved fingers through her silky soft locks once she was settled in place at the foot of the throne.

The conversations around the chamber continued on as normal, as though a future King hadn’t just sauntered into their abode. A passing, silent servant offered Loki a chalice of blood red wine, which he accepted, taking a second chalice for the protege. He didn’t give it to her until he had finished his own, however, only allowing her a taste of wine from his own mouth when he urged her head up, pushing her lips apart with his leather-covered thumb, the warm liquid spilling down her throat and threatening to choke her.

_ “Master…”  _ she whispered almost reverently. The heat and the atmosphere were clearly getting to her. Her eyes were growing clouded, her foot was tapping along with the beat, and she looked to be in dire need of fresh air. “Master, please…”

He shrugged off his own cloak, revealing his dark set of finely spun clothes perfectly tailored to the contours of his body. He took a deep inhale of wine from the second chalice, appearing to mull over his next decision before finally crooking a finger at her to beckon the young creature up onto his lap.

With one hand he deftly unfastened the front of the dove grey cloak and slung it off to the side, smirking in smug satisfaction at the sight of the beautiful emerald green gown she had been concealing beneath it. The neckline was almost indecent, the cut of the garment one she had vehemently protested to, but in the end, he always got his own way. 

_ “Mm…  _ beautiful.” He nuzzled her hair, breathing in the soft, delicate fragrances of a beautiful spring morning. Using his teeth, he removed the gloves of his right hand then pressed his bare fingertips to the underside of her jaw, guiding her head as he poured wine down her throat, only stopping when droplets of crimson welled in the corners of her mouth. “Drink up, my dear. This will make you feel  _ much  _ more relaxed.”

It was easy to pretend that they were alone; it was even easier to pretend that they weren’t being watched, the thrill of knowing that it was certainly not the case making Loki’s already heightened senses grow, until finally he succumbed to his own urges and started freely fondling his prize sorceress’s breasts with his leather gloved hand, squeezing and pinching indelicately at her sensitive nubs through the flimsily thin fabric of her gown. Meanwhile, his bared hand set aside the chalice of wine before adventuring down the curve of her side, creeping slowly under the hemline of her gown, until finally, he dipped two fingers between her soft, warm thighs, earning himself a lovely reward of having her squirm and whimper pathetically on his lap. 

_ “M-Master!”  _ She gasped out almost in protest, cheeks flaring brightly with colour to match the colours emanating from all around the chamber. She tried to press her thighs together, but he pinched her hard enough to bruise, which resulted in a few shed tears from her followed by a mumbled apology for going against his wishes. 

“Good girl,” he praised, running his gloved hand down the bump of her spine, delighting in the way she shivered in response. “Such a  _ good girl  _ for your Master, aren’t you? This isn’t a punishment, this is a reward. This is your  _ special  _ reward for being so brilliant and  _ clever,  _ isn’t that right?” 

She nodded, in a daze, head nestled on his shoulder with her nose pressing into his neck. 

_ “Look  _ at you… the most remarkable creature here. Apart from myself, of course.” He laughed to himself, fingers dipping deeper into her velvet wetness, his palm cupping and rubbing over her bundle of nerves, his gloved hand rising up to grab a handful of her golden hair, yanking her back so her body arched and he was able to start sucking deep red marks into the untouched skin of her supple breasts. “All mine for the taking.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Punishment is dispensed.

“You want to know the truth?” 

Sága had to resist the urge to roll her eyes for the nth time that minute. Truly, whoever this so-called person was, it clearly wasn’t an interesting person. Rather, someone riddled with cliches better suited to the epilogue of a children’s fairytale - one of the boring ones where the frog king gets kissed by a comely woman and reverts to a ‘better’ person. 

So distracted was she by contemplating fairy tales that Sága didn’t hear the woman’s next words until she received a sharp jab to the ribs courtesy of her fellow apprentice-slash-pet Sylvain, who had apparently been hanging onto the old woman’s every word as if it were gospel. 

_ “As  _ I was saying,” the older woman remarked with her own roll of the eyes. Sága nearly scoffed. “The truth of the matter is, no matter how much they claim they are the ones in charge, at the end of the day, they need us more than we need them.”

“I completely agree!” Sylvain babbled, sounding more and more like an excitable puppy and less and less like the refined magic-wielder his ‘Master’ claimed him to be. Sága once again nearly scoffed, and this time allowed herself to visibly roll her eyes as she stifled an exaggerated yawn, allowing her focus to shift to where a group of the Masters were playing a card game, the atmosphere set by the gloom cast by the flickering candles.

Deciding she was bored with the old woman and with her new fan Sylvain, Sága stood up and didn’t bother dismissing herself from the conversation, rather rudely walking away with her head held high, just as she had been taught to do. She was better than them, after all. Her Master said so. 

Speaking of her Master…

Loki placed a card down, his face betraying nothing of his inner monologue. He was playing what many would deem to be a ‘shrewd’ game; but which was actually a simple sleight of hand trick that went unnoticed by the rather tipsy and dull compatriots he had unfortunately surrounded himself with. Still, they paid handsomely, and money was money in his opinion, regardless of how easily it was acquired. 

He didn’t look away from his cards even when his fiendish apprentice sidled over to him and slid down onto his lap, letting out a huff worthy of an acting award for how utterly dramatic it was. “No,” he mumbled to her, not paying her any mind when she huffed again. “Shut up and play with the other pets,  _ Beastie.”  _

“They’re  _ boring!”  _ Sága whined, doing her best to distract him by pressing her face into his neck and stamping her feet just enough to rattle both the table and his nerves. “The old woman’s as dull as dish water, and Sylvain is about as clever as a Bilgesnipe -  _ and  _ he’s boring -  _ and  _ I’m bored -  _ and  _ I want to play cards with you  _ now!  _ You promised I’d have fun but I’m not! I thought you weren’t going to lie to me!” She crossed her arms and let out a disappointed sigh. “I shouldn’t have ever bothered getting my hopes up. I knew you’d let me down.”

Loki bristled, though he did his best not to let her see just how much her words were affecting him. She wasn’t being clever whatsoever: he knew she was trying to manipulate him, and under any other circumstances, he might have been proud, but right now, he had a reputation to uphold, and he couldn’t afford to have a petulant brat damage his image or his impressive ego. 

He chose to ignore her. Instead, he continued playing cards as though he didn’t have a young woman dangling halfway off his lap, practically grinding her teeth at him as he refused to succumb to her pathetic whims. 

“Master!” she hissed after half a minute.  _ “Master!” _

“Shut her up!” one of the other Masters snapped abruptly. 

Immediately, Loki had a dagger aimed at the unfortunate soul’s throat. “I beg your pardon?” 

The man swallowed thickly, a bead of sweat trickling down his trembling gullet. He glanced from Loki to Sága, who smirked in smug vindication at finally receiving Loki’s attention. The man gave the slightest shake of his head before unleashing a heavy gush of air once Loki retreated back to his seat with his dagger now safely tucked away for the time being. 

The game resumed as though nothing had just transpired.

“Master…” Sága whispered into Loki’s ear a minute or so later. He gave her a tiny nod of acknowledgement, permitting her to continue speaking. “Is this all you do with these people? Play cards and drink corked wine? I thought the life of a soon-to-be King would be  _ much  _ more glamorous.”

He silenced her with a rough, fierce kiss, keeping one eye on his game of cards as he set down his winning deck. Sweeping up his winnings, he slipped them into a secret pocket he knew a certain grumbling beast wouldn’t be able to get her hands on, before scooping her up around the waist and standing up, escorting her out of the chamber, out through the heavyset stone doors, and into a much more private area of the area. 

The manacles were ice cold against her feverish skin. Cutting into the soft flesh of her breasts, the iron rubbed and pulled tighter, threatening to crush her ribs into dust. The chains rattled in her desperation to free herself. 

_ Breathe. _

She kept her eyes closed. Focusing on finding the weakness. 

_ In.  _

Her fingernail splintered on a harsh, jagged contour. The manacles were poorly crafted, she was starting to realise. 

_ Out. _

With her eyes still closed, she cracked apart the weakest section of the chains, letting them clatter noisily around her as she sucked in grateful lungfuls of much needed oxygen. 

“You panicked.”

She didn’t deign to answer him. She felt humiliated and angry and more than anything, she felt violated by him. Forced to be bare before a group of leering, judgemental fucks. So instead of answering him, she opted for crushing and disintegrating each section of the manacles, working methodically even with her hands shaking violently. 

“You should discipline her,” came the voice of an unknown ‘Master’, one whose guts Sága decided to loathe vehemently. “She is a disgrace to your-”

“If my Master requires your advise,” Sága interrupted, “Then I am sure he will seek it out. Until then, why don’t you shut the  _ fuck  _ up and let me concentrate, okay? Or do you require me to prostrate myself before you and degrade myself even further?”

“Beastie…” she heard her Master warning. She chose to disregard him entirely. 

“Prince Loki, I must advise you that your…  _ prodigy's  _ behaviour is not going to be tolerated,” said a silver haired rather young-looking figure, one clad in garments that exposed their firm torso and highlighted the love marks littering their softly tanned skin. “I’m afraid if she doesn’t learn to show respect, she’ll have to be excluded.”

“Thank you, Satrinava, but that won’t be necessary.” Loki took each step towards the impertinent brat with a deliberate gait, each heavy, leather-booted footstep echoing ominously throughout the confined area. In his left hand he conjured up a white whip streaked with aspects of his emerald green magic; in his right he summoned a crude mouthguard that he forcibly rammed into Sága’s mouth as she made to say something in protest. 

With each strike of to her bare back, the more and more crimson stained the once pristine white whip’s surface, splatters of blood coating his grimly set face, his right eye twitching in time to the hoarse, animalistic shrieks she was letting loose into the gag. 

Once it was done… once it was finally over and done with, Loki furled the whip up, the crimson staining his palms as he stared down at his weeping, wounded  _ Pet  _ with as much cold disdain as he could muster.

“Heal yourself.”

And to the amazement and delight of the surrounding Masters of the Arcane, Sága did exactly as she told. The flesh that had been sliced open across her bare back slowly knit back together, until all that remained was thin, barely-visible white lines, along with the stains remaining from the blood. The only evidence of her Master’s displeasure in her behaviour.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

The gardens of Alfheim’s capital were beautiful in the glow of the early evening moonlight. They were even more enjoyable to experience when partaking in a gondola ride down the royal canal, an unseen force guiding the elegantly carved boat along, leaving Sága alone with her so-called Master. A bit of peace and serenity away from the chaos of the day. 

“I am no fool,” she spoke, the first words she had spoken for quite some time. She was clutching a glass of elixir that was said to have healing properties, not just for the body but also for the mind. Her back twinged in sympathy as she adjusted her position on the cushions she was half-sprawled out on. “I know I should be grateful you bought me from the slave trader. Maybe I had too much faith in your apparent goodness. I have been naive, perhaps.”

“How so?” He asked in return, sipping on his own glass of elixir. In the rising moonlight, he appeared almost akin to one of the Light Elves whose capital they were currently visiting. Sága could almost imagine him with pointed ears; at least he already had the Elves’ infamous arrogance to go along with the silly theory she had that he was at least part-elf. 

“Naive in trusting you. After all, you  _ did  _ buy me. I’m nothing more than a Pet to you.” Sága downed the last dregs of her elixir before setting the glass aside, preferring to occupy her hands with braiding strands of her freshly brushed hair. “Before everything, I had a life. I had a bedroom. I had books. I had a family.” She smiled wanly, unbidden tears welling in her eyes. “They’re undoubtedly all dead or under the impression that I am dead. Still, at least… at least I have my health.” She laughed sardonically at that, lifting her empty glass to the heavens before pouring herself a fresh drink, deciding this time to opt for something a little more potent. 

Loki watched her carefully, worrying on his bottom lip with his finger thoughtfully. After observing her down her freshly poured drink in three deep gulps, he decided to take her glass away, ignoring her noise of discontent. “Enough.”

“So now I cannot even drown my sorrows? Pah!” Sága waved her hand dismissively. “First you whip me, now this? Are you  _ trying  _ to torture me,  _ Master?  _ Is that what gets you off? Hmm?” She scoffed when he refused to answer. “Typical. Absolutely typical.”

Loki resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

Sága turned her back on him, pulling a blanket around herself more securely as the evening chill began to set in. Her back still throbbed with residual pain, and every time she let her mind wander, her thoughts drifted to the sound of the whip striking her over and over again. He had promised he would never do that to her. But he had. She felt pathetic for crying, frantically wiping away a stray tear before he could notice.

Loki noticed.

He closed the distance between them, slipping one hand between her thighs under her skirt, relishing in how soft and warm her flesh was against his ice-cold hand. She didn’t react to him, she didn’t even tell him to stop or to leave her alone. She did, however, flinch when his other hand came to rest on her back.

“Don’t.”

“It still pains you.”

She bit back a harsh word. 

“A foolish question,” Loki continued, keeping his voice as soft and gentle as possible. He let his hand drift to the top of her dress, inching down one strap and then the other, exposing her back for him to examine. He touched one of the thin white scars, wincing in sympathy at the suppressed sob she involuntarily let loose. “I know, it hurts. Let me make it better.”

“You did this.”

“I know.” He brushed his lips over her shoulder in a featherlight kiss, pleased when she shivered under his touch. 

“You promised…”

“I know.”

“You lied.”

_ “I know.” _

_ “Why?” _

Using the skills he had learned from his beloved mother, Loki extracted the essence of each and every wound he had inflicted on Sága’s young body, gritting his teeth as the pain instead etched itself into his own back. 

“Why…” she repeated, oblivious to the agony he was inflicting upon himself. “Why do you care about proving yourself in front of those people? You’re better than them. You don’t need them to shower you in praise or… or… or swear their allegiance to you. Is it not enough to be better than them?” She frowned when he didn’t speak. “Master? Are you not even going to answer me?” She looked over her shoulder at him and let out a cry of horror.  _ “Master!” _

Loki came to with his face pressed into a pillow. With a grunt, he tried to ease himself off the bed he had found himself on, only for the back of his head to be smacked, followed by Sága sharply snapping, “Stay down, you idiot! You’ll ruin my work.” 

As she worked on sewing his skin back together, she muttered to herself, “Stupid old fool, should have waited until the morning to grow a bloody conscious, would have been able to heal him properly instead of resorting to poking a sewing needle in him. Never thinks. Idiot.”

“If I were in a better state right now, I’d punish you for your insolence…” Loki jested weakly, laughing to himself when Sága pinched his side in retaliation. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensation of her stitching him back together. “I truly am sorry.”

“For what?”

He didn’t say anything.

“If you’re going to apologise, be honest about what you’re apologising for!” Sága snapped, clearly lacking any patience tonight. 

Loki turned his head a little, opening one eye so he could peer at the tense expression on her face. “For hurting you,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t be helping me, Beastie. Not with this. I deserve this pain, I deserve it for hurting you.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself not to say something she might regret. She just continued working on fixing him up, not saying anything even when she finished and packed away her instruments. Then, after washing her hands, she muttered a quick goodnight before leaving for her own room. 

Loki was asleep by the time she checked in on him ten minutes later, a satchel slung over one shoulder, her Master’s green cape draped over her shoulders. She regarded him for a long moment before forcing herself to turn and go, tears flowing freely as she stepped out of the building and into the crisp night air. 

**Author's Note:**

> might be more idk


End file.
